the epiphany

I think I’m done writing love poems

No more heart-wrenching remarks

No more jagged visceral aches

and gory gaping wounds

No more odes to undeserving men

I’m finished with the torture of projecting

the likes of Hector and Achilles

onto the reflection of an ephemeral man

No more sonnets of unrequited affections

No more harakiri by way of blarney

with unnecessary amorous schemes

and transitory conjured fortunes

Enough with the drama of it all

Gone are the days of low self worth

Good riddance, they will not be missed

Let this chapter be known as The Epiphany

-“When she finally realized that she was magic through and through”